Chapter 12: Red Veins
It started as a normal day.
Barry Allen walked into CCPD like he had a thousand times before—coffee in hand, tie slightly crooked, trying not to look like he hadn't slept. His mind was juggling a dozen different thoughts: paperwork, patrol reports, metahuman alerts, Caitlin's latest speed tests…
And then his eyes caught him.
Dante Hart.
Mopping the floor just like always.
Same slow, lazy rhythm. Same black hoodie, sleeves pushed up. Cigarette hanging from his lips—not lit, just something to chew on. His red eyes half-lidded, glancing at Barry once and then back down to the floor.
They didn't say a word.
They never did in the mornings.
Barry passed him, walking down the hall to the forensic lab. It was like some unspoken agreement between them. A truce born not out of peace—but patience.
Inside the lab, Joe West was waiting.
He leaned against the table with a folder in hand, his face grim. "Barry, we got something weird. Three bodies this week. All guys with criminal records—murder, assault, robbery. All killed with arrows."
Barry raised a brow. "Arrows?"
Joe nodded. "Clean shots. Right through the heart. No witnesses. No prints. Just steel-tipped arrows and vanishing shadows."
Barry didn't need to guess. "Oliver."
Joe sighed. "He's back in the city. Thought he gave up the hood."
"He probably had a reason," Barry muttered. "He always does."
Joe handed him the file. "I just want to make sure it doesn't get messy."
Barry nodded. "I'll talk to him."
---
That night, the city streets pulsed with tension.
Barry suited up, red lightning humming softly around him as he moved. He found Oliver easily—he knew where to look. And of course, the Green Arrow didn't disappoint.
They met on a rooftop above 7th and Marshall, standing side by side in the dark like old soldiers. No words, just a look. A nod. A shared understanding.
Below them, the chaos had already begun.
A new metahuman. Cisco called him Rainbow Raider.
Real name: Roy G. Bivolo.
He had the power to manipulate people's emotions—flood their brains with rage, euphoria, despair. Whatever color he wanted. He painted your soul like a canvas, then let the madness take over.
Barry ran in first.
He was fast. Too fast.
He dodged the blasts of light Bivolo hurled at him—red, green, blue. All of it flickering like shattered neon. The air was filled with flashes and shouts and sirens.
Arrow landed beside him, loosing arrows that hissed through the wind.
Bivolo laughed.
He didn't even aim. Just looked at Barry with those glowing red eyes—and snapped his fingers.
A shimmer of crimson light burst from his hands and hit Barry square in the chest.
At first—nothing.
Barry felt fine.
Then he didn't.
---
It was like heat crawling beneath his skin.
A tingle. A spark. Then a wildfire.
Anger.
Hot. Pure. Blinding.
His thoughts twisted. Everything slowed down—not because of his speed, but because of the fury rising in his chest like boiling tar.
He clenched his fists.
Cisco's voice crackled in his earpiece. "Barry, are you okay? That was a red pulse—rage signature. Back off—don't engage!"
But Barry wasn't listening.
All he could think about was the last time he let someone live.
Tony.
Dead because Barry hesitated.
Because Barry believed in redemption.
He thought of Dante—standing over Tony's body with no guilt, no hesitation. Just judgment.
He was evil. I killed him. End of story.
Barry's breathing turned shallow.
He looked at Bivolo—smiling, running.
He's going to hurt someone else.
Again.
Unless you stop him.
.....
The next day
Barry Allen walked into the Central City Police Department, head down, thoughts scattered. The hallways buzzed with the usual chatter of officers, paperwork, and early morning coffee. Nothing seemed out of place—on the surface.
But inside Barry, something stirred.
A flicker at first.
A throb in the back of his head.
He passed Dante Hart, mopping the floor in his usual rhythm—slow, casual, a cigarette tucked between his lips. Red eyes caught Barry for a split second. A quiet stare. But Dante said nothing.
Neither did Barry.
He entered the lab, where Joe West stood beside Captain Singh, briefing him about a new wave of vigilante-style murders. Men taken out with arrows. No fingerprints, no mercy.
Barry tried to focus.
But his head pounded.
His blood felt thick.
Joe turned to him. "Barry, you alright?"
Barry snapped.
"Do I look alright, Joe!?" he shouted suddenly, eyes wide.
Both Joe and the Chief stiffened in surprise.
Barry heard what joe and the chief where talking about with Eddie
Eddie wanted the flash behind bars
Wich made barry anger go higher than before
"I'm doing everything! I'm saving the city day after day while everyone else sits in their office filing reports and talking about me like I'm some damn problem! And now—now we're hunting the Flash!?"
Captain Singh raised a hand. "Barry, lower your voice—"
"Why?!" Barry barked, stepping forward. "Because it makes you uncomfortable to hear the truth?"
Joe tried to calm him. "Barry, you're not yourself—"
"No," Barry growled, voice trembling, "I'm exactly myself. Just the part nobody wants to deal with."
Silence filled the hallway.
Officers turned.
Eyes watched.
And Dante—leaning on his mop—watched, too. Calm. Still. Silent.
Barry didn't look at him.
He stormed out of the building, fury leaking off of him in waves. His mind wasn't his own anymore. Everything irritated him. Every noise. Every breath. Every memory of failure.
He was going to STAR Labs slowly
He didn't run no
He walked
As the day went around him
And he was halfway to star labs
Then he saw them
Across the street. Outside Jitters.
Iris and Eddie.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Talking like they had the world to themselves.
Barry froze.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
He already resented Eddie for telling the Chief that the Flash was a vigilante who needed to be stopped. But now, seeing him with Iris—his Iris—laughing like nothing mattered?
That broke something.
Barry turned away, but the rage only grew.
His fists clenched. Red lightning crackled faintly at his fingertips. People on the street looked at him, sensing something… wrong.
He ran.
But not to STAR Labs.
---
That night, the city skies cracked with clouds. Wind howled through the streets. People felt it—the pressure. The hum in the air like a storm brewing.
Iris and Eddie were driving through Midtown. Talking softly, headlights cutting through the misty dark.
Then—
A streak of red.
The wind shattered the silence.
Eddie's car door ripped open with violent force.
Before he could react, the Flash yanked him out of the vehicle and slammed him against the asphalt.
Iris screamed.
The tires screeched as the car rolled to a stop.
Eddie groaned in pain, blood trailing from his lip where he hit the ground. "What the hell?!"
Barry didn't speak.
He stood over Eddie, breathing heavily.
Red lightning crackled behind his eyes. His suit hissed with energy. His hands shook—not with fear, but fury.
Eddie looked up, confused and panicked. "Flash—what are you doing!?"
Barry didn't answer.
He looked past him—to Iris.
He grabbed Eddie by the collar and lifted him halfway off the ground. "You think you know who I am?" Barry snarled. "You tell the city to hunt me like I'm some threat? You smile next to her like you've won something?"
Eddie coughed. "I never—"
"You don't deserve her," Barry hissed. "You never did."
He let go—shoving Eddie to the ground with a grunt.
Iris shouted, "Stop it! This isn't you! Flash"
But Barry couldn't stop.
He didn't want to stop.
Until—
An arrow split the air.
It sliced through the street and struck the pavement inches from Barry's foot.
He turned his head.
There—on the rooftop—stood the Green Arrow.
Bow drawn. Eyes sharp.
"Back off," Oliver said coldly.
Barry stared at him.
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